


Mirror Image, a mystery fiction | FictionPress

by LeChic77



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 14:59:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11739450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeChic77/pseuds/LeChic77
Summary: This is a short story I wrote years ago for a creative writing class and posted on Fiction press under the name Taydriana.





	Mirror Image, a mystery fiction | FictionPress

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short story I wrote years ago for a creative writing class and posted on Fiction press under the name Taydriana.

 

 

 

 

  
  


 

 

 

  
Follow/Fav **Mirror Image**

 

By: [Taydriana](https://www.fictionpress.com/u/558633/Taydriana) (Lechic77)

A detective falls in love with a beautiful woman harboring a dark secret. Corny summary, I know.

Rated: [Fiction T](https://www.fictionratings.com/) \- English - Mystery/Romance - Words: 9,048 - Reviews: [2](https://www.fictionpress.com/r/2329053/) \- Favs: 1 - Published: 3/5/2007 - Status: Complete - id: 2329053 

 

 

 

**Mirror Image**

It was a cool and breezy that evening, but one wouldn't be able to tell after getting a glimpse of Shavonne Wilson as she marched down the block. She was pissed and God help any man, woman, child, or ax murderer who happened to cross her path. "I cannot believe that… Ooh, he's so going to get it…," she could be heard muttering through clenched teeth.

"Baby, wait up! Look, I'm sorry, okay?!" pleaded the woman's boyfriend, Tyrell Harris, desperately trying to catch up.

Shavonne whirled around, braids flying wildly about her and fixed him with her version of a death glare. "Sorry? All you got to say to me is sorry?!" she yelled, voice raising an octave. "I cannot believe that's all you have to say after I find you with that bitch."

"Sweetie, It's not what you think it is. There is nothing going on between me and Crystal. I was helping her up and we both tripped and fell on the floor…"

She scoffed in disbelief. "Oh yeah, sure you did. You both tripped and fell on the floor with no clothes on and you conveniently landed between her legs. Does it look like I have 'Stupid' written on my forehead? Why you little…"

Shavonne cut off what she was about to say when they both heard two gunshots echo into the night, followed by the sound of a woman screaming. Tyrell grabbed her and pulled her behind a dumpster.

"Where were they coming from?" she asked, panic seeping into her voice.

"From that alley over there," Tyrell answered. "Look, call the police. Call the police; I'm going to see what is going on." For once, Shavonne didn't argue and whipped out her cell phone.

Tyrell slowly crept from behind the dumpster and walked towards the alleyway, crouching so that he could easily dodge any incoming bullets. He peaked from behind the wall and saw two figures, one lying prone on the ground, the other standing above holding the gun. Taking a deep breath, he slowly crept his way into the alley.

The figure with the gun heard the movement and swung the gun at him. Tyrell froze and stuck his hands into the air. Now that he was closer he could see that it was a young Caucasian woman with long, black hair. She was wearing a read dress with that was torn at the shoulders. Tears streamed down her terrified face and the hand holding the gun shook violently.

"Hey there, miss. I'm not going to hurt you. Could you just put down the gun?" He said as soothingly as possible, praying she wouldn't shoot him.

Fortunately, she acknowledged that he wasn't going to attack and dropped the gun. She then suddenly swayed and Tyrell caught her just in time before she passed out. In the distance, sirens could be heard approaching.

"Finally, I am done!" declared Detective Cameron Shaw raising his arms in the air as if he'd just won the Tour de France. He'd just signed the last document in his report and was more than ready to head home.

"I'll alert the media," his partner, Alyssa Manning, muttered sardonically, never taking her eyes off of her own paperwork. After working together for three years, she was used to his outbursts.

"Come on, hurry up and finish so we can go. I'll treat you to dinner and drop you off home," he offered.

She grimaced. "No thanks, Cam. All you ever eat is junk food and I for one do not plan to have a heart attack before I'm thirty," replied.

"Maybe so, but at least it doesn't taste like cardboard like all that health food stuff you eat. I don't know about you, but I like my food to have flavor."

"Well, what do you suggest?" she asked.

Cameron thought for a moment. "What about Giorgio's Pizza?"

"How is that a compromise?"

"They make pizzas with all that stuff you like, like soy cheese, wheat flour, organic sauce and the like. We can make it half veggies and half meat. What do you say?"

Alyssa shrugged. "Well…"

"Aw, come on. Please?" Cameron pleaded, seeming more like a twelve-year old kid than the thirty-two year old man he was. He gave her a sad puppy-look, but she could see the mischievous twinkle in his bright green eyes. That, combined with the sandy curls that fell ever so slightly over his eyes, and she was knew she'd lost.

"Oh alright, you big baby," she finally conceded. _Sometimes, you being that fine can be a real nuisance_ , she thought bemusedly.

"Yes, I knew you'd see things my way," he said.

The two were just putting on their jackets when their captain, Victor Maldonado, popped out of his office. "Manning, Shaw, I need you in my office, now!" he called.

They glanced at each other in mutual disappointment, shrugged of their jackets and trudged to the office.

"There was a shooting on Fifth Avenue. White male was shot twice in the chest and is in critical condition. There are indications that it is the result of an attempted sexual assault," Maldonado explained.

"Do we know who shot him?" Cameron asked.

"There was a woman at the scene, Camille Chappelle, who claims she shot him in self-defense," Maldonado continued. "Both of them were rushed to St. Christopher's Medical Center. I want the both of you to get over there and take their statements."

"Yes sir," they chorused and rushed to the hospital.

The arrived there a half hour later, and were met by one of the patrol officers, Pete Brown, who worked out of their precinct, who briefed them of the current situation.

"The guys still in surgery don't know his condition on him. He had no I.D with him, but Forensics found some ecstasy in his coat pocket," he explained.

"What about the girl?" Cameron asked.

"Her name is Camille Chappelle, twenty-four year old white female. She's being looked at right now by one of the doctors. She wasn't raped, buy she got beat up real bad," Pete commented. "She's in room 206."

"Okay, thanks Pete." Alyssa said.

The examination had just been completed when they got to the room, and the woman sat on the examination table, talking with a nurse. She happened to look up and see them through the window.

"So, what do you want to do?" she asked.

"I'll interview the girl while you check on the guy," he suggested.

"Are you sure? She may not respond to a male officer, given what she's been through," said Alyssa.

"I think I'll be alright. I'll meet up with you later."

Alyssa looked uncertain, but shrugged it off and went to talk to the doctor.

He walked into the room, knocking lightly on the door. Both the nurse and the girl looked up at him. "Miss Chappelle, I'm Detective Shaw. I need to ask you a few questions about the shooting, if you are done here?" he asked, turning to the nurse

"Of course," the nurse said and left the room.

"Now, can you relate to us what occurred tonight?"

"Of course," she replied in a soft, but shaky voice.

"I went to this nightclub, The Palace, with a bunch of people I know from work. When I was there, I saw this guy staring at me from across the bar. He came over and introduced himself as Giorgio Rivas. He offered to buy me a drink, and I accepted. We just sat and talked for a while. I think it was about 1:00 when I decided to leave. He offered to walk me home.

One the way there, he pulled me into an alley and started kissing me. I tried to get him to stop but he kept going…," her voice trembled a little. "He started getting rough, trying to pull off my dress. I pushed him away once and he hit me. He then pulled out the gun and told me that if I didn't do as he wished he would kill me. He came at me again and I grabbed for the gun. We struggled for it until I had it and I shot him. He fell on his knees, looking at me as if her were shocked," she said in a distant tone. "He tried to lunge at me again and I shot him once more. He didn't get back up that time…" a tear now rolled down her cheek. "There was so much blood," she whispered and now she was weeping heavily.

He handed her a handkerchief and she wiped her face. "Thank you," she replied gratefully. "So, what happens to me now?" she asked them.

"I don't know. That's up to the D.A," he replied.

She nodded understandingly. She handed him back the handkerchief. "Thanks for the handkerchief."

"Don't mention it, ma'am," he said and stood up. Before he left, he glanced back at her and found her looking back at him. There eyes met and for a moment, he was frozen by her gaze. She looked away and he found that he could move once again. He exited the room, feeling slightly uneasy, than dismissed it. "I must be overtired," he thought as he approached Alyssa, who was speaking with one of the surgeons.

"The bullets pierced his right lung and the one of his kidneys. We got the bullets out, but we're having trouble stopping the bleeding. To be quite honest, I don't think he'll make it. The damage is just too severe," He concluded.

"Okay, thank you doctor," Alyssa said and turned to him. "So now, what do we do?"

"Go back to where this all started. The girl said they met at a club called The Palace. Let's start there. Somebody had to have seen them at some point."

"Giorgio Rivas, is that what Archie is calling himself these days?" the bartender, a bulky black man who called himself Bubba, commented dryly.

"Archie?" Alyssa asked.

"His name is Archibald Wicker. He's a regular here, always picking up girls. He doesn't like using his real name because it sounds so geeky," he explained.

"Has Mr. Wicker ever been violent?" Cameron asked.

"Not that I've ever seen. But I heard that he used to beat his ex-girlfriend. Kayla Rodriguez, if I remember correctly. She lives over on Tenth Street. She could probably tell you more than I."

"So somebody finally shot that son of a bitch. Good for them. I just wish that I'd been the one to do it," said Rodriguez, blowing out a puff of smoke cigarette smoke, causing Alyssa to cough slightly. The two of them sat across from Kayla Rodriguez in her tiny, one bedroom apartment, which looked as if it had seen better days. The walls were, which might have been green at one time, was now almost grey and peeling in spots. The linoleum table they now sat at wasn't in any better shape.

"What exactly happened between you two, Ms. Rodriguez?" Cameron asked.

"What didn't he do? Everything was nice when we first started going out. But about three months into our relationship, she started calling me names, started hitting me. I found out that he had no job, just sat at home all day playing video games and drinking. Then, I found out that he had a wife and three kids up in Maryland. I confronted him about it and he tried to run at me with a kitchen knife. I called the police on his ass and got a restraining order. Good riddance to him."

"Have you had any other contact with Mr. Wicker since then," asked Alyssa.

"Hell, no! Shoot, I hope the bastard dies," she said.

After leaving Rodriguez's house, they went back to the precinct and ran Wicker's name through the system. What they came up with was a record about fifteen pages long, with charges running from assault, theft, child abuse, and drug possession. He did indeed have a wife and three kids, although they'd been legally separated for five years, for many of the same reasons that Rodriguez had given them. Checking further, they found several more complaints from other ex-lovers.

"Jesus, it seems like half the women on the eastern seaboard had a problem with this man," Alyssa said.

"Some of the men too; I have here a restraining order from a Daniel Price, ordering Wicker not to come within 5000 feet of his house," he added.

She arched an eyebrow. "Anyway, it isn't hard to see why people would wish this guy dead. He pissed _a lot_ of people off. They'll be real disappointed if he survives."

At that moment Cameron's phone rang. He answered it and talked for a minute. When he got off he looked solemn. "I don't Wicker will have anything to worry about. He died an hour ago."

Cameron knocked on the door three times. Chappelle opened it slowly. "Detective Shaw, has something happened?" she asked, seeing the other officers.

"Miss Chappelle, I'm going to have to ask you to step outside. You are under arrest for the murder of Archibald Wicker."

"What?!" she asked in shock.

"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in a court of law…" he recited as they led her away.

Camille Chappelle's trial went by very quickly. She was tried on manslaughter charges, but quickly acquitted. Her testimony, as well as that of Rodriguez and others he'd wronged who'd been brought in as character witnesses, it wasn't difficult to convince the jury that Archibald Wicker had gotten everything he'd deserved.

During that time, Cameron forgot all about it. He and Alyssa had other cases besides that to take up his time, and he continued with his life as before. Then one Saturday, six months later, that all changed.

Cameron was at the supermarket, picking up some groceries. It was the first day of his vacation and after this he planned on doing absolutely nothing but hang out at home and be lazy. He hadn't had a real vacation almost the entire year and he was more than ready to chill out.

He was so lost in thought that he didn't the woman heading straight towards him, arms so full of bags that she could barely see, until they bumped into each other.

"Oh, Jeez! I'm sorry about that; I wasn't looking where I was going. Let me help you up," he said.

"No, that's quite alright. It was my… Detective Shaw?"

He looked at the woman for a second, not recognizing her. "Do I know you?" he asked.

"Oh, you might not remember me. I'm Camille Chappelle. We met at the hospital a few months ago. I'd been assaulted…"

"Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, now I remember. How are you, Miss Chappelle?" he asked.

She wiggled her hand back and forth. "I'm alright. With the trial and everything, it took a while for me to move past it. What about you, detective? How have you been?"

"Please, call me Cameron. I'm on vacation right now."

"Oh, that's nice," she said.

"Say, do you need any help with your groceries. You look like you're struggling just a bit," he commented.

"Oh, I don't want to impose…" she protested.

"Don't worry, it's not a problem. Do you have a car, nearby?"

"Actually, I was about to call a cab." Camille explained.

"Don't worry about that. I'll take you there. Your house is on Hamilton Place, right?"

Camille lived on the second floor of a 6-story building, in the middle of a small family neighborhood. As he walked in and set the bags on the kitchen counter, he was struck by how spare the apartment was, something he had not time to notice the first time he was here.. The walls were left unpainted, and adorned with only a few copies of famous artworks, like Van Gogh's _Starry Night_. Other than that, he saw a black futon sofa, a glass coffee table, and two black chairs to the side of each. On one wall was a book case with titles ranging from mysteries such as Dashiell Hammett's _The Maltese Falcon_ to non-fiction like _Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil_ to the entire _Lord of the Rings_ trilogy. There was a state of the art entertainment system, including a flat-screen tv, dvd/vcr, and an Xbox 360.

"I managed to find this place for only $800. I think the landlord was eager to rent it. I heard from one of my neighbor's that someone had died here or something and no one else would take the place," she explained.

"Yeah, it's real nice. A lot better than mine, that's for sure," he commented.

"Why, what's wrong with your house?" she asked curiously.

"Well, for one thing I have a schizophrenic heating system. Sometimes, during the winter it feels like the Bahamas in there, and then five minutes later, the heat cuts off."

"Did you try complaining to your landlord or the building manager?" she asked.

He laughed. "Yeah, I tried. Even told them I was a police detective. They raised my rent on me."

She winced. "Yikes. Well, why don't you move out? Try to find a new apartment?"

"Don't think that I haven't been looking, but rent prices are two high these days. No, for the moment I better stay where I am for the time being."

She nodded in agreement.

They stood looking at each other for a moment, slightly uncomfortable. Finally, Cameron broke the silence. "Well, I better get going. I'll see you around," he said.

"Would you like to have dinner with me?" She blurted out and he turned to look back at her. "I mean… I hope I'm not being too forward. We don't even have to go anywhere fancy. It's just – I really would like to see you again."

Cameron smiled. "I'd love to take you to dinner. What day would you prefer?"

"Tomorrow at eight would be good," she said.

"Tomorrow it is. Good-bye then, Miss Chappelle."

"Call me Camille. It's only fair if I get to call you Cameron."

"Okay. Goodbye… Camille."

The next night, the date went off without a hitch. He took her out to a little Japanese restaurant he knew of, where they talked for hours. He told her all about his family, about how they'd initially objected to his decision to become a police officer; his father had wanted him to take over his dry-cleaning business.

Her relationship with her own family was equally strained. Her father had died when she was eighteen years old, and she hadn't spoken to her mother in quite some time. "After Daddy died, things just went further south. Finally, I couldn't stand it anymore and moved up here," she said.

Additionally, they shared a bunch of the same interests. The both loved basketball, and were die-hard Trekkies, although he was a devoted Original Series disciple, while she preferred _Voyager._

He was amazed at how easily they got along. Most of the women he'd dated in the past considered him to be too childish for their tastes. But here was a woman whom he could talk to about anything, say for instance, name a specific episode that had the Borg in it. And so when he dropped her off that night, he invited her out to another date the next week. Then another. And another. After about three months of this, he dropped her off at her place and didn't leave until the next morning. It was around that time that Cameron realized that he was falling in love with Camille.

One night, he and Camille were exiting a movie theater. They'd just seen _Blood Diamond_ starring Leonardo DiCaprio. They were debating how good they thought he was in the film (She thought he was great, he thought is was horrible), when they heard someone call out, "Cameron?"

They turned around and saw Alyssa coming out of the theater with her son, Dylan.  
"Hey Alyssa!" he said surprised. "Hey there, Dylan."

"Hi, Mr. Shaw," he replied.

"I never expected to see you here, what a pleasant surprise." She said, than looked at Camille. "Who's your friend?" she asked.

"Um, 'Lyssa this is my girlfriend, Camille," he said.

"Pleasure to meet you," she said somewhat tightly. "You know, you seem very familiar to me."

"Oh, we've met before," Camille said.

Alyssa's eyes widened as she remembered. "The Wicker case. Oh, yes. I remember now. How have you been," she said and Cameron detected the strained politeness in her tone.

"I've been very well, thank you," said Camille.

"Good. Well Cameron, I guess I'll talk to you, tomorrow," she told him. He gulped nervously seeing the look in her eyes. He knew he was in for a tongue-lashing from her. "Nice to meet you again, Miss Chapelle. Let's go, Dylan." And she practically dragged her son to the car.

"I get the feeling she was upset at seeing us together," Camille commented.

Cameron laughed once. "Who, Alyssa? What makes you say that?"

"Because she practically squeezed my hand off when she shook it," she said, showing him the red marks on his hand.

"Oh. Well, she was just surprised. She can be a little over-protective of me sometimes, that's all," he said.

"Are you sure? There's nothing going on between you two I should know about?" she asked.

Cameron turned her around and looked her in the eye. "I swear, on my great-grandmother, Nana Mimi's, grave, that Alyssa and I are not romantically involved. I love you," he said.

"You do?" she asked.

"I do," he repeated and leaned down to kiss her.

She opened her mouth and deepened the kiss, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. When he finally pulled back, she smiled. "I love you too," she replied softly and Cameron felt his heart skip a beat hearing that. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and together they walked to his car.

Driving away, they passed by Alyssa's car. She happened to look up as they passed and Alyssa watched as Camille shot her the coldest, cruelest, and most triumphant smile she had ever seen.

Cameron walked into the station house feeling happier than he'd ever been in his whole life and he could not help the smile that spread over his face. He even started whistling, which prompted a few odd looks. However, his grin dimmed as he spotted Alyssa at her desk, glaring at him. Clearly, she was not happy with his relationship with Camille.

He decided the best approach would be to act normally and hope she wouldn't blow up. "Good Morning, 'Lyssa," he said neutrally.

"Fuck off, Cameron," she replied acidly, and looked down at a file.

" _So much for that idea_ ," he thought. "Is something wrong?" he asked, still trying to be civil.

Alyssa put down the file and looked at him disbelievingly. "What's wrong with _me_?! Oh, that's rich! You're asking what's wrong with me when you're the one who's clearly lost his damn mind, sleeping with that crazy bitch." she ranted loudly, nearly jumping out of her seat.

"Shh! Keep your voice down, will you?" he asked. They were getting stares from some of the other officers. "Listen, what the hell is your problem with Camille? She's done absolutely nothing to you."

"Cameron, she killed a man!" Alyssa argued.

"As I seem to recall, the judge ruled self-defense and she was acquitted." Cameron countered.

"Oh, give me a break. If your precious Camille is so innocent, than why does her name show up in connection with three other deaths?"

"What?" he said in shock. "What are you talking about?"

She handed him the file she was studying earlier, labeled 'Camille Chapeaux'. He looked inside and saw Camille's picture, as well as a list of names and dates.

"While running her fingerprints through AFIS, I got a couple of hits for homicides in Philadelphia, Charleston, and Atlanta. I didn't find much on the Charleston case; most of their records were lost in a fire. But the cases in Atlanta and Philly…" she hesitated. "Cam, they were identical to our case. The victims were male, with violent criminal histories. Allegedly, the both tried to rape her and she shot them in self-defense. And in both cases, she was cleared of any wrongdoing."

Cameron tossed the files down on the desk. "This must be a mistake. Camille would never do anything like this."

"How the hell would you know? How long have you been going out, a few months? How well could you possibly know her, Cameron?!"

"It doesn't matter how long we've known each other. I love her, and she loves me, and that is all there is too it," he declared.

"Cameron, she is using you and you are too blind to see it," she said.

"No, you know what your problem is? You're jealous."

"Jealous?" she repeated indignantly.

"Yes jealous, because she got me before you did. Admit it. Admit that you are in love with me," he goaded.

"Alright, I do admit it! I do love you. I've been in love with since we first became partners. I've loved even when I had to watch you go through all those horrendous relationships with those other stupid girls you've dated. I love you even though keep ignoring what is right in front of you. And at the moment, I can't remember the reasons why I fell for you in the first place!" she shouted then grabbed her coat, and walked outside to cool off.

Five minutes later, Maldonado called him into his office and reminded him to reserve his personal dramas for when he was at home, or he would be reprimanded.

The rest of their shift was filled with tense silence, as the normal joking and banter between Alyssa and Cameron was conspicuously absent. A dark cloud seemed to hover over their desks and the other officers had enough sense to avoid them as much as possible.

Later on, a tired and stressed Cameron went over to Camille's house. She hadn't asked questions, but gave him a massage, which eased some of the tension but not all. Throughout the evening he continued to brood over his argument with Camille. He was still mad at her, but a small part of him wondered if there indeed was any truth to the allegations she'd made.

Sleep was a long time coming that night and only slept fitfully. He woke up twice that night, but something happened the second time that left him unable to fall back asleep.

It was about one a.m. that he woke up from another bad dream. In it, he was a Greek sailor being led to his death by the voices of sirens. He woke up just before his ship crashed and found that it wasn't entirely a dream. He checked Camille's side of the bed and found that was empty. He sat up and saw the light coming from beneath the bathroom door.

Curious, he got up to stand by the door, trying to hear what was going on.

_That girl is going to ruin everything_ , he heard Camille whisper.

_You worry too much. He didn't believe a word she said_ , said another voice which he did not recognize.

_But, what if…?  
Hey, I said not to worry. Everything will work out just fine. I promise._

He heard a sigh and then, _Alright. We'll do it your way._

The light clicked off and hurried back to bed, pretending to be asleep. He felt Camille climb back into bed and felt her cuddle up next to him before she drifted off to sleep. He could not do the same, the conversation he'd heard only further aroused his suspicions. And so, he resolved the next morning to get a leave of absence from his captain. He wanted to personally figure out what was going on.

A few days later, Cameron found himself driving through the streets of Stone Mountain, Georgia, heading towards Camille's childhood home. From what he'd learned her mother, Cassandra Chappelle, still resided there.

As he drove towards the house, he was plagued by doubts. He simply could not believe that Camille was remotely capable of murder. At the same time, it was hard to ignore the information that Alyssa had uncovered. Nor could he that there were inconsistencies in what she's told him about her past. " _Damn it, Camille! Who the hell are you?_ " he thought.

He parked in front of a small, one-story house in a neighborhood located just off of the highway and somewhat isolated from other houses in the neighborhood. Although physically, it was no different from any other house on the block, to him it stood out like a sore thumb. At the other houses, he could see children playing in the yard. An elderly couple sat conversing on their front porch, basking in each other's presence. But this house seemed dead, isolated from the world of happiness the other homes exuded.

Cameron took a deep breath, trying to quell his nerves and stepped out of the car. In a window, he saw a face peek out through a blind. Moments later, a middle-aged woman stepped out of the house, wearing a red turtleneck who had to be Cassandra Chapelle. She had the same dark hair and mercurial eyes as her daughter.

"May I help you, young man?" she asked him, her Southern twang audible in her voice.

"You are Cassandra Chappelle?"

"Yes, I am. And who are you, sir?"

"My name is Cameron Shaw; I'm a detective from New York and I'm investigating…"

He trailed off as the woman paled and sank heavily into a wicker chair. "Oh God, you found Christine," she said softly.

"Christine?"

"My daughter," she replied.

"Actually, I'm here investigating a matter involving, I'm assuming your other daughter, Camille," he told her.

"Camille…? Mr. Shaw, I'm afraid you are mistaken. It couldn't possibly be her."

"And why is that, ma'am?"

"Because Camille was murdered six years ago," she told him.

"Murdered?" he repeated softly, unable to believe what he was hearing. Chapeaux took in his expression and she sighed. "Perhaps you had better come inside, so I can explain."

Wordlessly, he nodded and followed the woman into the house. She seated him on her sofa, offered him some tea. He nodded and she disappeared into the kitchen. As she puttered around, he gazed about his surroundings. The living room was small but comfortable, painted a soothing eggshell blue with darker blue carpeting. A grandfather clock gonged the time from some other part of the house. He spied a rocking chair, cherry wood coffee table, a piano, and a large fireplace with several photographs above the mantle. He got up and examined one.

It was a family portrait, showing Cassandra at a younger age, standing next to a man who was probably her husband. Seated in front of the couple were identical girls, about ten years old in matching outfits. " _This must be Camille and her sister_ ," he thought. Once again, he noticed their dark hair, and the eyes, which here seemed a startling blue shade.

Mrs. Chappelle reentered with a tray of tea and two cups. She quietly made his tea, and then poured a cup for herself. She sat back in her chair and slowly stirred sugar into her tea. She took a sip, pausing before speaking.

"As I'm sure you've noticed, Camille and Christine are twins. They were born three minutes apart. They looked identical in almost every way, yet I've never seen two people be so different." She chuckled softly. "I've never had any problems with Christine. She was always the quiet one; polite, well-spoken, always getting good grads. But Camille…" she trailed off. "Jean-Paul and I had no end of trouble with her. I swear that she forced her father into an early grave. But for all that, they always looked out for one another." She stopped again, wiping away tears that suddenly appeared.

"Camille was killed on her and Christine's sixteenth birthday. They went out to a club to celebrate with some of her friends. One of them was Cammy's boyfriend…I think his name was Troy. Troy McNamara. He was the captain of the football team or something." She sighed disgustedly. "I never liked that boy, not at all. Something about him made my skin crawl. He was always…too nice. It wasn't until later that he had a reputation for being violent.

"Anyway, I let them stay out till about eleven that night, since it was a weekend. An hour passed and I was really getting worried. About 12:30, I get a phone call from the police saying my daughters were in the hospital. When I got there, I learned that Camille was dead and that Christine was sedated. That boy had beaten her to death," she said tremulously and bowed her head so that he wouldn't see the tears.

After a while she looked back up at him, wiping her eyes. Cameron waited until she could continue.

"I later found out that she and Troy had some sort of disagreement and he started to beat her. Christine and some others tried to interfere but couldn't stop him. It took five police officers to pull him off of her. By then, she was already dead.

"Christine took Camille's death extremely hard. She began blaming herself, saying that she should have done more to stop him. She grew extremely depressed, distant. She wouldn't talk to me or anyone at all. Her grades slipped. Sometimes I would find her Camille's room, just lying in her bed for hours, crying. After a while, I sent her to a therapist and it seemed to be helping her. Then…" Cassandra hesitated once again, frowning.

"Please, go on," Cameron encouraged, trying not to seem too eager.

"I came home one day and called Christine to go to the grocery store for me. She didn't answer me, so I called her again. I looked in her room, but she wasn't there so I looked in Camille's old room. She was sitting there, wearing one of her old outfits. I said, 'Christine, why didn't you answer me?' And she said to me, 'Christine? Mom, I'm Camille. Christine's gone.'

"After that, I decided to place her into a mental hospital, so that she could get the help she needed. Christine escaped after 6 months. A few days later, I hear on the news that Troy McNamara was found beaten to death, his body found in a ditch about 5 miles away. The police looked for her weeks but she was long gone. The case was never solved. That was about six years ago and I haven't heard from her since." Cassandra finally concluded.

For a moment he couldn't speak, shaken to core by this story, his mind refusing to believe it. He was so lost in thought that he missed what Mrs. Chappelle had said. "I'm sorry, ma'am? You were saying?"

"I asked, is Christine in any trouble?"

"I don't know," he whispered. "I honestly don't know."

Cameron exited the house feeling more shaken and confused than when he'd first arrived. He got into his car and exhaled deeply trying to calm his nerves and process everything he'd just heard.

_Camille is a killer? Camille is dead? Camille is really her sister? Impossible!_ , he thought. It sounded ridiculous, yet a part of him couldn't help but believe the mother's story. In a twisted sense of logic, it was the sheer implausibility of the story that convinced him in the end. If she wanted to lie to him, she could have easily concocted a tale that made more sense.

Finally, he got up the strength to turn on the car. He had one other stop to make while in North Carolina: Cape Fear Valley Medical Center, the hospital where Christine was committed.

He was pleasantly surprised and relieved to see the modern facilities of the hospital's Behavioral Health Center. With a name like 'Cape Fear' he was half expecting the building to look like a castle out of an old horror film, complete with bats and complementary lightning storm.

He was shown into the office of Dr. Marya Zaleska, the physician who'd overseen Camille – no _Christine_ 's he had to remind himself, case during her brief stay at the hospital. She was a pleasant, slightly plump woman in her early fifties, with mid length graying hair and a thick Romanian accent. "Yes, I remember Miss Chappelle. She was one of my more difficult cases. She suffered from a severe case of Dissociative Identity Disorder, sometimes referred to as Multiple Personality Syndrome."

"Multiple personalities? You mean like in _Sybil?_ " he asked.

"Something along those lines. The theory is that is that for some reason, usually because of some traumatic event, the patient is left unable to cope with reality, and consequently mentally separates themselves from the event. For instance, in some cases of rape, the victim describes a feeling of numbness, as if they are outside of their bodies during the attack.

"With D.I.D., the mind forms alternate personas that are completely autonomous from the patients normal personality. In Christine's case, the persona of her sister."

"But what I don't understand is why she would choose Camille's identity," Cameron said.

"Actually it does. Twins tend to have a closer bond than those between other siblings. The fact that Christine witnessed and was unable to prevent her sister's death is another. Subconsciously, she still feels guilty as if she should have done more. Plus, the sister seems to have been the most forceful of the pair. I believe that she feels that as Camille, Christine is able to take control of her life as she herself was unable to do." she concluded.

Cameron nodded as he digested this information. "Alright, thank you doctor," he said. As he got up to leave, Zaleska stopped him.

"Detective, if you are intending to apprehend this woman, I urge you to exercise extreme caution," she warned.

"Why do you say that?" he asked.

"When during her escape, she attacked one of the security guards who tried to stop her. She took a fire extinguisher and beat him over the head with it fifteen times. He suffered permanent brain damage as a result. I have no doubt that she would fight back if someone tried to capture her again."

"I can't stand Chemistry!" Dylan exclaimed, slamming down his pen and closing his textbook.

"Why is that? I thought you loved science," she asked, slicing carrots for tonight's dinner.

"I do! I just can't stand our teacher, Mr. Ramone. He gives me the creeps," he complained.

"Oh, I'm sure he can't be that bad," she replied.

Dylan snorted. "You haven't seen his hair," he muttered.

Alyssa thought for a moment. "Ramone… does he have a toupee that looks like a greasy rat?"

"Yeah, that's him," he answered.

Alyssa shuddered. "Ugh! Now I remember know who you're talking about. I had his class myself back in high school. I remember one day the windows were open, and a strong breeze blew the toupee off his head and into my lap. I nearly fell out of my seat, screaming. I still have nightmares about that day," she said, shuddering again.

They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Alyssa gout up to answer it and looked out of the peephole. She sighed in disgust; it was Camille. "Dylan, can you finish your homework in your room?"

"Sure, mom," he said.

She opened the door once he was out of sight. "Hi there, Ms. Manning," Camille greeted cheerfully.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she asked curtly.

"I needed to discuss something with you. May I come in?"

"No, you may not. Now please leave," Alyssa said coldly and started to close the door in her face.

"Please, I promise it will only take a few minutes." Camille promised.

Alyssa considered this for a moment, and then cautiously stepped aside to admit her.

Camille stepped into the apartment and looked around. Alyssa briefly noted that she wore a blue turtleneck sweater, black pants, black boots, and that her hair was pulled back in a long braid.

"Nice place you have here Alyssa. Do you mind my calling you Alyssa?" Camille commented. "It's so cheerful."

Alyssa sighed impatiently. "Look, I'm sure you didn't come here to offer decorating tips so why don't you just say your piece and leave?"

Camille breathed deeply. "Alright, I came here to offer a truce."

Alyssa frowned. "A truce?" she asked.

"Yes. Look, I know that you don't like me and that you don't approve of Cameron dating me. But the fact is that we are and you are going to have to accept that. I love Cameron and I have no intentions of breaking up with him. I realize that the two of you are very close, and I hate to see him be hurt. And as long as we are together, we should try to get along, for his sake. It would be in everyone's best interest."

"What would be in everyone's best interest is if you were in prison. I know all about your crimes, Camille. And I'll do everything I can to see you go back there." Alyssa went and opened the door. "Your time is up, now leave."

Camille sighed and shook her head sadly. "I was truly hoping that you would agree. However, it seems that you leave me no choice…"

Alyssa didn't see the gun until it was too late. She felt more than heard the shot as the bullet pierce her torso, doubling her over. She briefly glimpsed Camille run out of the apartment, and heard her son's panicked voice before everything faded to black.

Cameron rushed through the hospital, trying to find Alyssa's room. Pete met him at the airport when he landed, who'd told him about her being shot. He'd sped through the streets to get there, nearly getting into a couple of accidents himself along the way.

He arrived in the waiting room to find several members of Alyssa's family, including Dylan, as well as several people from their precinct, including Captain Maldonado.

"How is she?" he said, running up to him. "Does anyone know what happened? Who shot her?" asked in a rush.

"Whoa, slow down. She's out of surgery but she's still in critical condition. She was shot twice in the torso. The doctor's are hoping she will be fine but it is too soon to tell," he explained.

"But who shot her? Where did it happen? Did anyone see the shooter?"

"She was shot at her apartment. Her son made the 911 call," said Maldonado.

He turned to Dylan who sat crying beside his grandmother. "Dylan, this is very important. Now, did you get a look at who shot your mom?" he asked as gently as possible.

Dylan sniffled. "No. But I could here voices coming from the front. I know it was another woman. I think mom mentioned the name Camille, but I wasn't really paying attention at that point."

Cameron stood up, a black fury forming in him as his suspicions were confirmed. Without saying a word, he rushed out of the hospital and drove to Camille's apartment.

The scent of fresh-baked cookies wafted through the air when he entered the apartment. "Camille?" he called.

"In the kitchen baby!" she responded. She came into the living room wearing an apron with 'America's Sweetheart,' printed on the front. She approached him and kissed him lightly. "I'm so glad your home. How was your trip?" she asked.

"Fine," he replied tonelessly, wondering how she could stand there and pretend nothing was wrong.

"Hey, are you alright?" she asked, noticing the dullness of his tone.

"Not really. Alyssa's been shot," he said, watching for her reaction.

She gasped in horror, looking surprised. "Oh no! Is she going to be okay?" she asked, voice filled with concern. But as he looked into her eyes, he could detect a small triumphant glint in them.

Finally, he couldn't contain himself anymore. "Why did you do it?" he whispered.

"Do what Cam?" she asked confusedly.

"Why did you shoot Alyssa?" he asked, voice rising.

Camille looked appalled. "Shoot her? Whatever gave you that idea. I admit, she isn't my favorite person in the world. But I would have no reason to…"

"Stop lying to me!" he shouted furiously angrily grabbed her by the arm, holding her hard enough to break it.

"Ow! Cameron, what the hell is wrong with you. Let me go!" she shouted, struggling to free herself from his grip.

He scoffed incredulously. "Have _I_ gone crazy? I should be asking you that question, although some might agree that I really have gone insane." He released her and she stepped back, massaging her arm, which was beginning to bruise.

"What are you talking about?" she asked. He thought he heard a slight tremble in her tone.

"Do you want to know where I've been this past week? Fayetteville, North Carolina. Your hometown," he explained. She paled slightly. "Alyssa had discovered some disturbing things about you, that you were involved in the deaths of several other men, and all the cases were similar to the Archibald Wicker case. I went to Fayetteville, hoping to debunk her findings, to clear your name." He paused for a moment than said, "I met your mother, and Dr. Zaleska, _Christine_ ," he said.

"Christine? Cameron, what are you…?"

"Cut the crap, will you? I know everything, that Camille is your sister's name, about how she was murdered. I know about your D.I.D and that you escaped from the hospital, everything," he said sadly.

She shook her head in denial. "No, it's not true. None of it is true," she cried pleadingly.

Silently, he withdrew a folder from his briefcase and handed it to her. It was a copy of the medical file he'd obtained from Dr. Zaleska. She looked at it terror and glanced up at him, but his expression was unreadable.

Eventually, she pasted on a smile and threw it on a table. "It means nothing. That could have been made up, or they mixed up the names. There is nothing wrong with me."

"There's more," Cameron said softly. "Forensics traced the bullets extracted from Alyssa during surgery. They are the same type used for a police issue, Glock semi-automatic handgun. More importantly, they traced the serial numbers to _me_ , to my backup pistol." He walked over to his desk, and opened a drawer where it was usually kept. He took it out and held it in his hand. "I haven't used it in months, so it should be fully loaded. Now tell me baby, what are the chances that I'm going to find that two bullets are missing, hmm?"

She wasn't looking at him, still staring at the floor and he noticed that she was muttering to herself. "Oh god, he knows. He knows!" she whispered.

Then she said to herself in harsher, more commanding tone. "Well it's your own fault. I told you that we should have done a better job of covering our tracks, of choosing a different alias. But no, you just _had_ to use my name! Really bright Christie," she said sarcastically, and looked back at him, her eyes cold, seeming to turn paler than they already were. At that moment, he realized that this was the 'true' Camille, Christine's murderous alter ego.

"I'm sorry detective, for all the trouble my sister has caused. But then again, she never did have the stomach for this sort of thing," she said nonchalantly.

"Camille Chappelle?" he asked warily.

She smiled wickedly. "Of course, who else would I be?" 'Camille' began circling around him, and he watched her warily.

"I admit that everything you said is true. I did kill all those men, but they all deserved it. Murderers, rapists, abusers… trust me, the world is better off without them." she said.

"And Alyssa, she has a teenage son, what did she ever do to you?" he asked.

"She was going to ruin everything!" she shrieked at him. "We all know how much she hated us. She could have sent us in prison, and I couldn't have that. No matter what you think, Christie really does love you and I will do anything to ensure her happiness.

"Even if it means rubbing out the competition, is that it?" he asked, holding on tightly to his gun."

" _Especially_ if it means that," she said.

"So where does that leave me? Are you going to kill me too, not that I know the truth?" he asked her.

'Camille' calmly looked at him. "That all depends on you. You don't have to turn that evidence in. We could run away, go anywhere we want to. No one would have to know and we could be happy." She looked at him sadly. "Christine doesn't want to see you hurt, and neither do I. But I will if I have to. So what do you say?"

"You know I can't do that. I'm sorry, but I am going to arrest you," he said regretfully.

Her face hardened suddenly. "So be it," she snarled. She grabbed a lamp and crashed it over his head before had time to shield himself. He fell down hard making him drop the gun. He looked up dizzily and saw that he was bleeding from his forehead. He heard a click and saw the gun barrel pointed in his face.

"Goodbye, Cameron," she whispered before firing a round into his chest. He screamed as he felt the bullet searing through him. He collapsed gasping, holding the bleeding wound before the world around him faded away.

'Camille' cocked the gun once again, preparing to fire a final round.

_Camille, don't_! Christine's voice rang inside her head.

_Christine now is not the time for this. If I don't kill him, it's all over for us._

_No, I won't let you. Not this time!_

Her expression changed as Christine regained control. She knelt beside Cameron and kissed his lips gently. Then she raised the gun to her temple.

_Christine? What are you doing? Put the gun down… Christine!_

Her body crumpled to the ground next to his as the shot rang out. Seconds later, sirens could be heard approaching the building.

"Cameron? Cameron, wake up?"

He winced and struggled to respond to the voice calling out to him. His body felt like it was on fire.

"Come one Cameron, you can do it," the voice coaxed once again and this time he managed to open his eyes. His vision was blurry at first but then cleared and he could see that it was Alyssa that had been speaking, sitting beside him in a wheelchair, wearing a pink bathrobe.

"Welcome back, she said softly.

"Welcome back, yourself," he whispered, his throat felt dry. "You scared me. I thought you wouldn't make it."

"You scared me yourself. You've been unconscious for a week," she said.

A week, he thought. And then he remembered. "Camille. What happened to Camille? Did the police catch her?" he asked, struggling to sit up.

Alyssa pushed him easily back on the bed; he didn't have the strength to fight back. "Hey, take it easy now; you need to rest."

"And you're evading my question. What happened to Camille?" he asked again.

Alyssa sighed. "There's no easy way to tell you this Cameron, but she's dead. Her body was found next to lying next to yours when the cops arrived. A neighbor had heard the gunshots and called 911."

Cameron gasped and let his head fall back onto the pillows, covering his face so that she wouldn't see the tears.

Alyssa sighed. "I'm sorry Cameron. I know how much you cared about her," she said sympathetically.

"No, I'm the one who should be sorry. You were right and I didn't listen. And… I'm sorry for that argument we had in the precinct the other day. I didn't mean to hurt you like that," he replied. "Can you forgive me?"

Alyssa smiled, albeit sadly. "I forgave you the moment you said it. You know I can't stay mad at you for too long."

He laughed a little, but it made his chest hurt so he stopped. Instead, he took her hand in his and squeezed it tightly. "'Lyssa, I'm glad you're here with me."

She squeezed his in return. "So am I."

The End.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
